In case anyone missed it here in New England, spring has finally arrived. The birds are chirping, tiny blooms are peeking their leaves out of the almost green grass and noses are blowing everywhere, especially in this house. That’s part of what held up my usual posting schedule. No one can breathe in this house, let alone stop reaching for tissue long enough to type two words.
I was warned about this transition, but I was not prepared for this simple request to be so weighted. My mom is still capable of taking care of herself and she lives on her own, so it seems even more odd to think that it’s happening now. Tomorrow I take my mother to the doctor for the first time.
I think I am only comfortable in chaos. A colleague of mine recently told me she was impressed with my decision to go to grad school on top of working full time and having a family. She said she didn’t know how I was getting it all done. I laughed and said “I don’t either!” The truth is, I really don’t know how I’m going to do this. I have no idea what the heck I was thinking, but I’m here now and the only choice is to keep moving forward.
It’s official. I have joined the ranks of the over-burdened, student loan-saddled masses of middle-income America. I GOT IN TO GRAD SCHOOL! Now what?! What have I just done?
Because I clearly do not have enough on my plate, I applied to graduate school. It shouldn’t be overwhelming considering I’m taking a class already, but this is different. This is a program; a graduate-level program. At a different University. I feel like it’s my last shot to get things right, back on track, which is, of course, ridiculous.
Yesterday I made good on a threat I’ve been making for years and signed up for a gym membership. I’m sure, like me, you are now wondering why I feel I must be punished in this fashion, but fear not, I have not entirely lost my mind. Well, not with this.
Many moons ago, pre-baby, Hubs and I joined the gym across the street from our apartment complex. We had progressed past the point our treadmill could take us and we still had many body parts that were not looking how we hoped they would look. We naturally decided that self-inflicted torture in an air conditioned environment was the way to go and even went so far as to enlist the abuse of a tiny blond girl to “motivate” us. She was 5-foot-nothing and made of caffeine and muscles. Her name was Heather. It was all I had in me not to say “corn nuts” every time I did something wrong.
Because I don’t have enough going on in my life, I’ve decided to go all in and pursue a Master’s Degree…again. This is not to say I already have a Master’s, but to say that I’ve been here before. I’ve been in this place of sweaty-palmed excitement and dizzying overthinking of what my next steps may be. I have held great hope for my personal future and argued it away with my self-destructive over-analysis. Sounds like fun, right? So why not do it again?!
Waiting for the results of a credential recertification application is a special kind of purgatory. On the one hand, you know you worked hard enough to earn the credential in the first place, but on the other hand, you start to question whether the past few years were actually good enough to pass muster the second time around.
In my storied office worker past, I have held many roles, mostly administrative in nature and all involving helping others. In interviews, my favorite question is usually “What do you like least about your job” or “What do you not like to do?” My answer has held steady for over 15 years with “file.” It’s simple, relatable and though growing increasingly outdated, relevant. I haven’t met anyone who heard me say that and didn’t at least chortle. Honestly, who enjoys filing?
I’m sitting in the common area of the student center on the first night of the second semester of my certificate program , attempting to pour forth deep insights and bad humor when all I can focus on is the overwhelming acrid smell of man sweat.
What the hell is that all about?!
Suburban Jackpot 